Dirty Passions An Interracial Russian Mafia Romance (The Lion and The Mouse #5) - Kenya Wright Page 0,45

bodies. Steam curled along his muscular legs and rose around my face. And the whole time, my mouth sucked, twisting and turning. Slipping and sliding. Time passed as he pumped his cock between my lips within the pitter patter of the water’s spray.

The plane’s engine rumbled under my knees.

In no time, his cock jerked against the roof of my mouth.

“Mysh!” He exploded, pulling that throbbing length out and spilling white cum all over my lips.

I lapped at it.

“Yes, mysh. Yes. Take it all.” He rubbed the mushroomed top some more, pushing more semen out of the tip and smearing it on my cheeks. “You naughty little mouse. I’m addicted to you.”

And I’m addicted to you.

Chapter 10

Renovations

Kazimir

After the shower, we landed.

I was sure the rest of our people headed to the castle. However, Boris and Maxwell would remain until Emily left the plane. Those two represented Emily’s most loyal, and I was learning to appreciate them.

My main security team would also stay behind.

I wasn’t sure how much effort would be put to Uncle Igor’s funeral. To be safe and still show respect, I wore a hand-tailored black suit. It was a comfortable fit. Two-button single-breasted jacket, featuring fully lined construction. Matching trousers reinforced at the waist. It was the expression of Brioni's tailoring excellence.

At some point, the brotherhood should invest in Brioni. We sure wear the designer a lot.

Most of the brotherhood’s prominent funerals occurred in Russia. Handling of arrangements was difficult. Even after death, the thugs didn't mingle. Each gang buried its own in a different cemetery.

Although bullet holes tended to fill the corpses, they served as lavish and elaborate events. Instead of hearses, polished armored personnel carriers transported the coffins were transported. Huge bands performed the farewell ceremonies.

Each funeral was more outrageous than the last. Military guards and mountains of flowers. Usually, there were more than a hundred cars in the procession, displaying a never-ending line of expensive, foreign-made automobiles. Dozens of beautiful women in eye-catching outfits turn out to bid tearful farewells and search for other single gangsters. Celebrities from sports, entertainment and politics tend to be among the throng of mourners.

Since this is in Prague, how will Misha handle his father’s ceremony? Surely, Uncle Igor left instructions in his will, but how much of them will my cousin actually follow?

With Harlem in tow, Emily and I left the plane and headed to the castle.

Our limo zoomed through Prague and went up the crooked, quiet path that led to a rocky road rising into mountains. When my mother taught me how to drive, she would take me on this road. Back and forth, I would speed around, crashing two cars in my lessons on that sharp, curvy path running into tangled woods.

Emily squeezed my hand. “How are you doing?”

“Not bad. I think I made peace with my uncle’s death the night he was killed. These next days are for the living to celebrate his life and console the ones that loved him.”

We approached the castle on the cliffs—stone and stained windows. Bonfires dotted the front as was customary at the castle, when someone passed. Tons of cars surrounded it. Other cars were driving to the front and letting guests out.

Emily gazed out of the window. “Lots of people arriving. Is it all family?”

“Not blood relatives. My Uncle Igor lost his parents at a young age. My mother’s parents unofficially adopted them. Later, my mother met my father because he was my uncle’s best friend. In the end, Uncle Igor’s family was the brotherhood.”

“That’s how you all became unofficial cousins?”

“Exactly.”

Our limo passed the line of cars and continued toward the back. The castle’s entrance reserved for family.

“Valentina, Misha, and I were all meant to remain together. Our parents raised us as relatives and pushed the fact that we should always look out for each other.” I placed my hands on her stomach. “I hope that all of our kids maintain a strong connection too.”

Smiling, she put her hand over mine. “I like that.”

“I’ve heard that Misha is with his ballerina. She should be here today, if she isn’t busy. She’s the first black prima ballerina in Russia.”

“Oh wow. Where is she from?”

“Somewhere in New York.”

“I’m digging her already.” Emily grinned. “She’s broken down barriers and she’s a fellow New Yorker.”

“This may be inappropriate for a funeral, but I am so happy.” Keeping my hand on her stomach, I kissed her. “You’re carrying my baby. I want to scream this throughout the whole castle.”

“Maybe, we should keep it a secret